Pause and Wander

Dates: December 7–10, 2025

Places: Hanoi → Cat Ba Island, Lan Ha Bay, Ha Long Bay, Vietnam

Travel days have a way of compressing everything. Distance, mood, noise, expectation. This stretch of our time in Vietnam carried us from the churn of a city into a slower island rhythm, with water, jungle, and just enough small chaos to keep things interesting. What followed unfolded as a steady unwinding, shaped by shared meals, shared logistics, and the simple pleasure of moving together through a place that kept offering more than we expected.

We were up early and packing in Hanoi, moving with the quiet efficiency that comes from knowing you have a long day ahead. Once we were set, we ducked out for a quick breakfast at our favorite bánh mì spot, a simple street-side vendor with a couple sidewalk plastic chairs, small enough to belong in a kindergarten classroom. It was excellent. Maxell is now firmly convinced that bánh mì might be the perfect food. Each one was just different enough to feel personal, but they all hit the same essential notes: fresh, salty, crunchy, spicy. Hard to argue with a formula like that.

Just before noon, Clark and Kyle arrived back at the Airbnb, and seven of us piled into a private van for the roughly 2.5-hour drive to the ferry for Cat Ba Island. Hanoi traffic was hectic, but it felt almost manageable compared to Bangkok. The real challenge was the air. The smog hung thick in the sky, heavy enough to make an N95 feel like a reasonable accessory. Gradually, as we pushed closer to the coast, the air shifted. By the time we reached the ferry, it already felt easier to breathe.

The ferry itself was painless. About 30 minutes across the water and we were on Cat Ba, the largest island in Ha Long Bay, perched along the edge of Lan Ha Bay. Steep limestone cliffs rose straight out of the water, wrapped in dense jungle. Fishing boats dotted the shoreline. After Hanoi, it immediately felt calmer, greener and quieter, like someone had turned the volume knob down a few notches.

Another private bus met us on the other side and drove us halfway down the island to our Airbnb for the next four days. It was remote, definitely not in town, but brand new and surprisingly luxurious. Huge shared spaces, a karaoke room, billiards, sauna, pool, and ensuite bedrooms for everyone. A few details suggested the build had been rushed, but overall it was a fantastic base. Plenty of room to spread out and even better places to come back together.

We barely paused before hopping back into the same bus and heading into town with two clear goals: find dinner and lock in a boat tour for Lan Ha Bay. Dinner was easy. A restaurant with a mix of Vietnamese and international dishes left everyone full and happy. Tour-shopping took a bit longer, bouncing between offices to compare options and prices, but we eventually settled on Cat Ba Visions. For 3.6 million Dong, about $138 USD, all seven of us would be out on the water the next day. Decision made, tension gone.

Back at the house, the night wound down with drinks and a game of Werewolf. The girls were shockingly good. The game rewards confidence, misdirection, and a perfectly straight face, and Arya and Finlee leaned into all of it. We turned in early, ready for our day on the bay.

Morning came fast. Breakfast was minimal and highly functional. Vietnamese coffee and half an apple for us, red tea and dried mango for the girls. Efficient, questionable, but effective. By 7:30 we were on our pickup bus, heading to collect the rest of our boatmates.

Our final group was 21 people, including our party of 7. All but 2 were French. Arya surveyed the crowd and announced, “French people are everywhere.” Hard to argue with the data in front of us.

At the docks, our guide handled tickets and logistics for both Lan Ha Bay and Ha Long Bay. The system was impressively smooth. All 21 of us boarded without drama and soon we were gliding out onto the water. We cruised past Cai Beo Floating Village, one of the oldest floating fishing communities in Vietnam. Hundreds of homes and fish farms bobbed gently, forming a fully functional neighborhood adapted entirely to life at sea.

The conditions were close to perfect. No wind, temperatures in the mid 70s, and a light haze that softened the limestone karsts without hiding them. Lan Ha Bay lived up to its reputation as Ha Long’s quieter sibling, with fewer boats and the same dramatic scenery. When we crossed into Ha Long Bay proper, the karsts multiplied, rising sharply in every direction. It felt like cruising through a submerged mountain range.

Lunch came out of the boat’s tiny galley and somehow exceeded expectations. Fried tofu, grilled squid, baked oysters, fried fish, spring rolls, vegetables, rice, and fruit. Simple, fresh, and deeply satisfying.

Afterward, we kayaked through sea arches and into hidden lagoons ringed entirely by limestone walls. Inside, the water was calm and glassy. The girls each rowed with an uncle, and as Arya took pride in being faster than her sister, Finlee gleefully showed off her rainbow kayak to all passersby. We stopped at several small beaches, most completely empty. One, tucked inside a shallow cave, held a small Buddhist temple partially hidden by tropical foliage. It felt like a secret, stumbled upon rather than presented.

On the return, we passed through the floating village again, and this time the dogs stole the show. Nearly every home had one or two, confidently trotting along narrow wooden planks suspended over open water. Watching them navigate their daily lives with that kind of balance was mesmerizing.

Back on land, our bus returned us to town. Dinner was unremarkable, but serviceable. The real highlight was returning to the house for wine, another round of Werewolf, and a late sauna session once the kids were asleep. A full, satisfying day from start to finish.

The next morning started early again, this time fueled by bánh mì, naturally. Pork with avocado for Shaina and Maxell, beef for the girls, chicken with cheese for Missi and Clark, veggie for Kyle. From there we headed to Trung Trang Cave inside Cat Ba National Park. The entrance sat several stories above the jungle floor, punched into a limestone cliff face draped in vines. The cave itself wasn’t massive, but it was beautiful, with stalactites and stalagmites sparkling with moisture. In 20 to 30 minutes we surprisingly and rather impressively emerged on the far side of the mountain.

From there we walked a couple kilometers to the trailhead for Ngu Lam Peak. The hike quickly climbs to about 180 meters above sea level, offering a glimpse into how dense and wild the park remains. This was not a jolly jaunt in the park, but rather one of the “hardest 1.6km hikes in the world”, as one fellow hiker lamented on the way up. The steep limestone steps were worn smooth but dry, making the climb manageable. Missi powered through with determination and very little complaint. For someone in her 70s, she absolutely crushed it.

At the base, we rewarded ourselves with beers and Sprites at a small stand shaded by bamboo and hardwood forest. Then came the transportation hiccup. Our driver went silent. Another guy promised help that didn’t materialize. Maxell found himself in his least favorite situation: competing commitments and rising tension. Just as things peaked, our original driver resurfaced, and the promised replacement finally arrived. We escaped, relieved, but unanimously decided we wanted more control.

So instead of heading straight home, we stopped at a scooter rental shop. An hour later, we were cruising the island on 100 cc Hondas, channeling our inner Easy Rider fantasies in a much quieter key. Dinner was bún chă at a tiny spot run by a single woman who somehow cooked everything at once, flawlessly and fast. It left us wondering why western fast food exists at all when food like this is already so good and so efficient.

The ride back along the coast was beautiful. The night ended with a chill family game of Phase 10 and satisfied exhaustion.

Our final full day began slowly. Sleeping in, reading, journaling. Late morning we hopped on the scooters and headed cross-island. The road wound between towering limestone cliffs, every surface smothered in green. Vines, palms, and jungle plants spilled down the rock faces, turning the drive into a living corridor.

We rode all the way to the northern pier, quiet and unremarkable but oddly satisfying in its finality. Backtracking, we stopped at a small coastal shrine reached by a narrow bamboo bridge skimming mangroves. It felt hidden and temporary, like it existed just outside the main flow of things. A roadside cave followed, more entertaining than impressive, mostly because the girls insisted on exploring every corner.

Later, a tiny roadside garden drew us in. A woman and her mother lived inside an enormous, stationary RV, surrounded by fruit trees, flowers, and a vegetable patch with a resident water buffalo. We ordered fried spring rolls, sipped cold beer, and watched the girls collapse into hammocks. Mountains rose almost vertically around us. It felt impossibly contained and calm.

Our last stop was the Military Hospital Cave, a wartime hospital carved and poured directly into limestone. Concrete corridors alternated with raw cave, heavy with history. The girls turned it into a Hogwarts dungeon, whistling the Harry Potter theme as they explored. It felt right to let play soften a serious place.

We finished the day back in town, grabbing pizza to go. It wasn’t virtuous, but it was perfect. One last round of Werewolf, one last sauna, and then bed.

By the time we packed up, Cat Ba had become a place defined by motion rather than milestones. Scooters instead of schedules. Kayaks instead of crowds. Long meals, late games, and days that filled themselves without much planning. We left with tired legs, a growing appreciation for island logistics, and a shared confidence that this kind of travel suits us just fine. No grand takeaway, just a good stretch of days that worked exactly as they were.